Druxy
by Therefore I Am A Pipsqueak
Summary: When Hermione had gone to stay with her uncle for the month she'd expected forced shopping trips, late night movies and hot coco. But now she's been swept up into a game with seemingly no rules, where nothing is what it seems and nobody is who they say. Except her uncle, he's the only one she can trust…right?


Update: Changed the Summary because it didn't really give anyone an idea of what the story was actually about.

_**Chapter one**_

She hated snow. Hated, hated, hated it! She hated the way it melted and somehow managed to always worm its way into her socks, making them damp and squashy no matter how many charms she did to protect them. She hated the way the freezing wind burnt her throat every time she breathed in and she hated the way it made her cheeks flush and caused her nose to feel like an icicle. But if there was one thing, _one thing_ she hated even more than snow, it was having to walk five kilometres uphill in a snowstorm because her uncle had forgotten to pick her up. She couldn't even hail a cab because the one time her father somehow manages to convince her to let her mother borrow her bag, is the one time some moron decides to steal her purse! This was London damnit! There wasn't supposed to be crime... not in broad daylight anyway. She was filing multiple complaints to her mother as soon as the month was over. One for her good for nothing forgetful uncle, two for stealing her bag, three for the purse that was stolen and four for... oh yeah, the damn snow.

She didn't care if her mother had no control over the weather (she had more control now that she thought about it) she was still going to complain. She could feel the snow dripping down the back of her coat, the sloshy goo that caused goose bumps and shivers to break out in irregular patterns down her spine. Hermione scowled and tucked her chin deeper into her coat collar, silently sending a prayer of thanks to her younger self for putting a feather light charm on the giant trunk. If she'd had to have carried the proper weight through all of this snow she would have lost it. As it was she was already going to make Voldemort look like a kitten when she got hold of her uncle, he should be thankful she wasn't getting his mother involved.

Hermione smiled grimly at that thought, briefly contemplating the idea before dismissing it with a shake of her head. No, not even her uncle deserved the fate of dealing with Grandmamma Josie. As it was the old lady was already on his back about finding a 'nice' girl and 'settling down' so she could have some more grandkids. Hermione laughed silently as she remembered her uncles face at the last family gathering (the last one that he had attended anyway) where both her mother and father had utterly failed at explaining- in quite broad terms- that her uncle 'played for the other team'. His face had been a mixture of utter disbelief, annoyance and exasperation that had quickly turned to resignation when his stepmother had asked in an overly chirpy "What do his hobbies have to do with his love life?" Her and Neal had nearly died choking on their tea at that.

Hermione glanced up and trailed her eyes over the street ahead of her with a slight frown, eyes briefly flicking down to the map in her hand. Taking in the hastily scrawled address Hermione frowned, straining her eyes to try and make out if that damn looped thing was an o or a. God her mother's hand writing was terrible.

Hmmm... An e? Yeah that was an e.

Stuffing the map back into her pocket Hermione set off again, childishly sticking her tongue out to catch a snowflake as it drifted down. If she was reading the map right her uncles work place, some hospital or other, should be just around the corner and a sharp left. If she wasn't reading the map right then she was in trouble and her mother was getting another complaint. Even if she was right there was always the chance of him not being in and if that was the case then she was going to let herself into his office, let her nice wet and soggy clothes drip everywhere before she'd call him and berate his ass for forgetting her.

The road ahead of her narrowed slightly, the sidewalk and tar road seeming to become one as she cut through the side of two houses, sneakers squeaking with each step. The overlapping edges of the houses stopped the worst of the snow from falling here, small piles of discarded cans and empty wrapper taking the place of the white powder banks. As she walked Hermione carefully traced a line of graffiti with her eyes, noting the swirl of colour with some amusement. She couldn't tell what the design was supposed to be, if it was even meant to be anything at all besides a mess of lines and colours. She had to admit grudgingly though, that it was a bit pretty. In an abstract type of way.

Hermione yelped as a figure bolted past her, ramming into her shoulder and sending her spinning. She slammed into the wall with a hiss, just barely stopping her nose from breaking against the bricks. If someone was trying to steal from her again she was going to kick something. Very hard and in a very sensitive place. With steel tipped boots. Whirling around with a yell Hermione freezes as another voice calls, tinged slightly with anger but mostly exasperation "Sherlock! Goddamnit, watch where you're going!"

She spun on her heel when a man jogged up to her, an old grey sweater failing miserably at fending off the snow. Hermione eyed him warily. He didn't look like a robber. No, because robbers always look like robbers, her mind snapped back snidely. Maybe this one's a murderer, sweater hiding a pointy little knife that will carve pointy little holes into your soft, soft skin. Right through like Swiss cheese! Imagine that! A Swiss cheese ghost filled with regret at how foolish her human self was at not running from the sweater murderer. Oh what a way to go, the great Hermione Granger, taken out by a moron and a wall- Her thoughts cut off abruptly as the man gave her a tentative smile, smile kind, but eyes starting to sparkle with the 'what the hell is she doing look' that she often got gifted by her grandmother. It took her a bit to realise that he'd asked her a question and shaking her head slightly Hermione grimaced, pulling a piece of wall paint out of her hair.

"Yeah. Yeah I'm fine. S'all good" she said cheerfully, crouching to pick her case up from where it had fallen during her small flight. She mentally groaned, throwing as a dirty glare at the popped open trunk. Well fat load of good that lock did, bloody opening at the smallest bump. The man glances down the alley before glancing back at her, seeming to waver before he leans down to help her with her books. While at least the concealment charm she'd placed on them had activated and worked better than the stupid lock. She was a terrible liar and having to try and explain why one of the books seemed to follow the poor guys every move would have just gone swimming. And would have most likely ended with her knocking him out. Or running. Or both. Her options were rather limited at that moment.

It only took them a matter of moments to completely gather her things, Hermione closing the trunk with a sharp click before accepting the map-somehow miraculously saved from the melted snow- from him.

"Once again I'm really sorry about that, when Sherlock gets an idea he tends to not look where he's going. And as such" he gestured at her with a slight smile, "you would be surprised how often things like this happen." Hermione laughed lightly, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear for lack of anything else to do.

"I can imagine. Ideas can be rather worrisome." The man smiled before he glanced back down the alley and shook his head.

"Well I'd better let you go. You look as if you're on your own mission. Oh, I'm John by the way. John Watson." He held out his hand a little awkwardly, smiling as she shook it.

"Hermione. Nice to meet you." She replied, wincing slightly at his grip. Strong and firm. The grip of a soldier according to her long dead, army crazed grandfather. Hermione grinned at the thought. John smiled back and pulled away, walked two steps forward , turned back to look at her, eyebrows furrowed, opened his mouth to say something and-

CRASH!

The noise echoed through the alley, followed by the sound of tires screeching on tar and the draining of blood in one John Watson's face.

"Sherlock!" He yelled before he once again took off down the alley, completely forgetting Hermione as he took off after his wayward friend. She was half tempted to turn back just to see what mischief this 'Sherlock' had caused but changed her mind rather quickly when a small patch of snow slid off one of the overlapping roofs and landed with a plop on her head. Hermione shrieked as she felt it slip off her hat and drip its way down her head, chilling her skull and making her miserable.

That's it. She was going to kill him.

O….O

Well wasn't this great. Any feelings of forgiveness and rational thinking Hermione may have felt for her uncle went flying out the door, crash landed and promptly burnt, as soon as she stepped into his office.

During the wait in the lobby, where she'd had time to think and dethaw- and be harassed by the receptionist, Barbara, because she was convinced Hermione was there for a boob job when she'd accidentally asked for the Plastic surgeon instead of her uncle- She'd come to the conclusion that her uncle had obviously had something really important to do, something that would have caused him to be fired if he'd left to pick her up. Something that would be a logical explanation for why one would forget one in a snowstorm. Evidently, that was not the case.

She stood behind him, jaw dropped and eyes angrily trekking the movement of the mouse as he moved one of the chess pieces around. Two wires trailed from his ears, the starting chords of 'Fur Elise' playing softly in the silence, punctuated occasionally by the clicking of the mouse. He was swinging lazily in his chair, foot tapping along to the music from its place on the bottom rung. He took a sip from a smiley face mug- the yellow faced thing seeming to have been painted on by six year old for the way it was so distorted- and stayed oblivious to her rapidly angering presences.

Would the Ministry of Magic mind, really, really mind, if she just took out her wand and performed one tiny, tiny, tiny little jinx on her uncle, that much? Surely they wouldn't punish her that badly for it. After all, she's quite sure many of them can understand the frustration of being left in a snowstorm in favour of playing chess. Cause really, these kind of things happened all the time. The game was just so exhilarating, the symphony of clicks and cheesy flashing letters and music making ones blood pump with achievement and happiness. 'I beat that game', they could say, 'I won that achievement'. So, who cares really if their niece became a popsicle, as long as they beat this or that high score. She'd definitely understand! It was chess! Hermione stared flatly at her uncle's head, silently boring holes into it. The Ministry wouldn't mind that much…surely?

She cleared her throat. Then cleared it again, then began to clear it for a third time when she was suddenly remind of a certain giant pink toad and stopped, wincing in horror. He still hadn't noticed her. Hermione gently put her trunk down inside the room, closing the door carefully behind her while she kept her eyes glued to the back of his head. Still focusing on the stupid chess game. She childishly stuck her tongue out at his back, delighting in the rush of joy that accompanied the movement.

Now Hermione wasn't normally one for giving into childish urges. She was a mature, independent young lady who had more than enough self-control when it came to dealing with the occasional urge that would flare up from time to time. She was a 'femme d'âge mûr' as her mother said (except it often came out as Fe-me Daa-ga M-eer, instead. It was a sore point for her mother that she was absolutely terrible at French). But God, the temptation to pull faces at her uncles back was just too damn tempting…

Hermione glanced around to make sure no one was peeking in through the small office windows before she faced her uncle again, putting her thumb against her nose and wiggling her other four fingers. 'Ha ha' she thought with a slight giggle, pushing her nose up with her forefinger and once again sticking her tongue out. This was actually rather fun. She moved to pull the skin under her eyes down, opening and shutting her mouth while she blew raspberries. Na na na na na-

"Hermione what on Earth are you doing?" Jim asked suddenly, lazily pulling his eyes away from the screen to glance over his shoulder and grin when his niece released a shriek and jumped as if she'd been burnt. Hermione spluttered and stared at him in shock, her cheeks flushing a dark red as her uncle began to laugh.

"You knew I was here!" She accused angrily, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at him when he continued laughing. His head was resting on his arms on the desk, his shoulders shaking with mirth. Hermione felt her lips twitch but she quickly schooled her expression, pasting a mask of faux irritation over her features as she began tapping her foot impatiently.

"Well? What do you have to say for yourself?"

"That I have quite the creative niece who knows how to pull some absolutely horrid faces. Didn't your mother ever tell you that if the wind changes you'll be stuck like that?" Jim teased lightly, his Irish accent heavy with amusement as his niece stared at him flatly. That wasn't exactly what she'd been going for…

Jim rolled his eyes when Hermione continued staring at him, his faces shining in honest amusement as his lips quirked up into a little grin.

"Alright, alright. I admit, I may have seen you come in" Jim admitted, raising his hands in the air innocently as he indicated the small mirror above his desk with a nod of his head. Hermione glared at the innocent looking mirror, silently willing the little thing to burst into flames. Good thing she'd decided against cursing him. The Ministry would undoubtedly have come screeching after her head if she had.

"You could have said something" Hermione muttered, grasping at straws as she turned and grabbed her trunk. Her cheeks had faded to a dull pink now, but she could still feel the embarrassment burning in her stomach, dulling her anger and making her want to squirm.

"Yes well, neither did you" He pointed out as he pulled his headphones out and rolled them up, spinning his chair around to face her with open arms, beaming.

"Now is your favourite uncle going to get a hug or not?"

"Oh no. No. uh uh. You are not getting off that easily' Hermione retorted, crossing her arms again and glaring murderously as her anger suddenly returned full force. Her uncle was a brilliant actor, she'd give him that. The confused, narrowed eyed look and slightly droopy shoulders would have, in any other circumstance, completely convinced her that her uncle had no clue what he'd done wrong. The key words there being in any other circumstance. She knew for a fact that he'd known she'd be coming, so unless he had a very valid reason for having forgotten her, she was not letting him off Scotch free.

Jim stared at her with his arms open for a few more minutes, the angry looking seventeen year old causing him to drop them with a sigh. Well, someone was decidedly being extremely childish today.

As if reading his thoughts Hermione's scowl deepened, her lips pulling down into a sharp line and her eyebrows furrowing. Silence stretched out between them, the only audience to their awkward show.

"Well?" Hermione asked after a few more moments, her hands falling to her sides to fidget with a strand of loose thread on her jacket sleeve. Jim shrugged and grabbed a pencil from the desk, jamming it in a sharpener and raising his eyebrow at her.

"Well what? I said I was sorry for scaring you. I don't know what more you want" He retorted, pulling the pencil out and blowing the dust in Hermione's direction. Hermione gaped at him.

"Scaring me? This isn't about- seriously? I wasn't talking about that! I was talking about you forgetting me in a snowstorm" Hermione snapped, reaching over to grab his pencil, turning the sharp end towards her and jamming the bitten eraser end into his chest. "And making me walk _five kilometres_ to get here! In the snow"

"Well that's not my-"  
>"Yes it is your fault. You're the one that forgot to pick me up. in favour of chess."<br>Jim frowned. "Now hang on a moment, I didn't forget you-"

"So i'm-"

"I didn't know you were coming, so how could I have forgotten you?"

Hermione scoffed.

"Don't play that card. I know for a fact that my mom called you to tell you I was coming earlier!"

"Well. She didn't."

Hermione froze.

"Sorry?"

"Your mom never called me to tell me you were coming earlier" Jim repeated "You were only supposed to be coming next week."

Hermione frowned, starting to feel a twitch develop in her left eyelid.

"Yes she did. She called you….on...on" Hermione snapped her fingers, leaning against the wall as she racked her brain trying to remember when exactly her mother had called her uncle.

"On.. Well. I dont know. You should know. She called you"

"You're grasping at straws my dear" Jim pointed out as he pulled his cell from his pocket, opening his call log and turning the screen towards her. "The last call I received from anyone on your end was from your dad, three weeks ago to confirm that you'd be staying with me till the wedding. And don't even try the, 'they contacted you another way' I don't have a landline and I only use my email for work"

Hermione's stomach dropped, her eyes narrowing and her shoulders slumping as sense of resignation fell over her. She had to fight the urge to pout.

"She said she wouldn't"

Jim raised and eyebrow and Hermione felt herself wilt.

"Again. I can't believe she did this again." Hermione muttered as she threw herself into a chair and stared grumpily at the smiley face mug. Jim wisely kept his mouth shut. It was a rather sore point for Hermione, being the academic genius that she was, that her mother was- well not stupid, she was one of the best dentist's after all, but rather...absentminded. Scarily so at times. Hermione wouldn't describe her mother as a blonde, after all she did so hate the stereotypical outlook people had on nearly everything, but when it came down to it… her mother did have a distinct blondish streak. With everything. Now when she put her mind to it, Melanie Granger was quite the genius. She would have be, managing to graduate university with a score of 98.2 (even with missing the final exam because she'd forgotten about it) and beating Kenneth Granger, self-proclaimed genius. The problem was though, that she was more content floating through her daily patterns and routines. She had nearly kicked up hell when she'd found out her daughter was magic, but besides that and her mother and father's games of Go, Hermione had to admit that she'd never seen her mother ever give her full attention to anything.

"You really shouldn't be so surprised."

"I'm not actually. Mostly disappointed and slightly embarrassed" Hermione grouched and slumped further into the chair, giving her uncle an apologetic smile. Jim rolled his eyes and leaned forward in his chair, quickly ruffling his hand through her curls and making her squeal in protest.

"Stop pouting. It's unbecoming" Hermione scowled and Jim pointedly glanced at the clock, the wheels in his brain audibly turning as he seemed to consider something. A loud beeping from his phone seemed to make the decision for him, the chair spinning around underneath him as he pushed it away from the desk and sent it careening across the room to where a small coat rack was squashed in between the open door and the room. Hermione watched him in amusement.

"How about you say we blow this popsicle stand a little early?" Jim asked as he slipped his jacket on, the collar standing up crookedly on his neck and making him appear as if he had plumage around his neck. "Ugh. This jacket, will be the death of me I swear!" He grumbled, giving up with the collar and just turning to glare at his niece.

"Not. A. Word."  
>"The thought never even crossed my mind" Hermione grinned, leaning down to grab her trunk, "But don't you have a few more hours at work?"<p>

Jim scoffed and looped his arm around his nieces neck, pulling her towards the door as he slung his lap top bag over his head and let it settle against his shoulder.

"Nope" He emphasized the p as they walked into the hallway, "Boss won't mind a bit. He loves me too much to fire me"

'Besides, after today he'll never have to see me again' He silently finished in his mind, pulling his laughing niece down the hallway as he slid his hand into his pocket and ran his thumb across the phone screen. And grinned.

….O….O…O….

**(A/N)-** Hi and welcome to my new story :) I hope you enjoyed it even if it was more of a grounding chapter. If you liked it please leave a review. Constructive criticism welcomed and appreciated _if_ a valid reason is given, E.g.… Jim seemed a bit OOC in this chapter because he… (Fair warning though before you point this out, I tend to always write my characters in a way that will tie into plot points or such later. Most times, anyway. Occasionally a few things will slip through, which is why pointing it out would be great help!) A very big thanks to my beta **Gabrielle Avis, **for helping edit and listening to all my rants and plottings without killing me. Thanks and have a good day/night/infinite time of crawling through darkness after your prey, _Pip._

Question- If you could have any fictional character as your uncle/aunt, who would you choose?


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